


Blind Date

by DanceBoheme



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:49:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9723722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanceBoheme/pseuds/DanceBoheme
Summary: You're set up on a blind date with a friend of a friend. That can only be bad, right? Well, maybe not so if it's Samuel Drake.





	

Sitting at the bar alone, you looked around shyly before ordering your drink. “A merlot, please…” it seemed the simplest thing to order. Easy enough to down whilst you waited. You were waiting for your date, and God only knew why. Your friend had set you up with a guy she supposedly knew through family- a blind date, your worst nightmare. Scratch that. Everyone’s worst nightmare (well at least a vast majority of the population, anyway).  
  
You sipped on your drink, and noticed an older brawny man with tousled hair take the seat next to you. He was also alone. You tried to keep your eyes off him as he sat down, you couldn’t be rude. He leant over the bar, and used a free hand to motion the bartender, his other hand kept firmly on the bar counter to keep him upright.  
  
“What’s a pretty lady doing alone in a place like this?”  
  
You snorted slightly into your drink as he spoke to you, not expecting that to happen. You scanned the room one more time, looking out for a man in a denim jacket just like she had described. “Blind date” you answered, chuckling in embarrassment towards him.  
  
“Thank GOD” was his reply, almost in astonishment. He leaned in closer to you. “Y/N right? Elena set us up..?” he trailed off, smiling warily at you.  
  
With your mouth left agape, you weren’t really sure how to answer. This guy was wearing a leather jacket, not a denim one. He couldn’t be who she was on about, right? He was almost 20 years older at a glance. “Yes?” you queried, although you weren’t sure why. You knew your name, it wasn’t that much of a question to counter. He laughed as he registered your confusion. “Denim jacket, right?” he said, motioning down to his clothing, particular attention paid to his crotch area. “Yeah, that shit wasn’t working for the outfit, you get me?”  
  
You totally got him. He looked rugged and unkempt, in a careless but completely ‘right’ way. Almost as if it had been intended that way. Baggy jeans from a left over era, tight grey t-shirt and a denim jacket. Straight out of a catalogue.  
  
“Right, so you’re the eponymous ‘Sam’, right?” you spoke finally, extending your hand to his. He returned the gesture, and you could feel that his hands were rough and calloused. You let go of his hand and returned to your drink. “I’ve got to admit” you started, “I was expecting…” you trailed off, unsure how not to insult him.  
  
“A denim jacket, right?” he laughed, he’d cottoned on. It was painfully obvious that there was an age gap between you both, he must have gotten that. You giggled, “Sure, yeah… Denim jacket.” Was all you could reply with.  
  
“So…” he started, “How is a girl like you still single?” his eyes lit up, and as he smiled you noted the creases at the corners of his eyes form, cute in a way you reasoned as you stared at them. You weren’t entirely sure how to answer him. Tell him of your past failed relationships? That your work pretty much drove everyone away? What was the proper answer in a scenario like this? You breathed out heavily and gulped down a gullet-full of wine. “Work, mostly. You?” A guy his age must have kids, or some sort of serious baggage. His crinkled gaze softened at you and he simply replied, “Same”.  
  
Huh, so he had some sort of job that either kept him away long hours or engrossed at all times. Well, at least that wasn’t too dissimilar.  
  
“So what is it you actually do then?” you chirped, interested at this sudden sameness. He fumbled a hand through his hair before he finally answered, “Babe, you wouldn’t even believe me…” laughing as he ended his sentence.  
  
You leaned forward in your seat towards him, wanting to know the full details “Now you HAVE to tell me” He laughed again, and you realised it wasn’t going that badly, even if he hadn’t been what you’d expected. “Treasure hunter” he retorted, raising one his eyebrows in mystique. Huh, treasure hunter. You were on a date with your very own Indiana Jones. Who’d have ever thought that!?  
  
“So Indiana Jones himself is on a date… On Valentine’s Day? Seem’s pretty improbable to me…” you cheekily countered. He took a sip of his drink, whisky you presumed, and then laughed. “Yeah. Never thought I’d find myself at the grand old age of fourty-six on a date. Who’d have thunk?” Fourty-six, so eighteen years older than you. Normally that’d have made you run a thousand miles, but you hadn’t had a date in so long you reasoned you may well have had the practice.  
  
“Hey, twenty-eight here. Don’t need your lack of optimism right now!” you joked, as you nudged into his shoulder playfully. His eyebrows raised to the top of his forward, he’d been expecting someone older. “Seriously? Twenty-eight? Shit. Elena got the wrong side of the memo…” You laughed nervously and gulped down more wine, almost sad to do so. “Didn’t she just? I was expecting a denim jacket for Christ’s sake!” If you were going to have a failure of a date, it might as well be on you terms. His shoulders dropped slightly, and he took you in once again. “So you know what I do, what about you?” You shrugged earnestly. “Journalist. How else do you think she knows me?” You turned back to your drink and finished it off in two more gulps.  
  
“Shit” he replied. “Well at least I know its all journo’s who can drink like champs…” he said, nudging you back with his own shoulder. You laughed as your raised your hand to the bartender once more, but Sam slapped your hand playfully. “Hey, it’s still a date. I’m the guy, let me pay” Well at least he was going to be a gentleman.  
  
As the night went on, you learnt more about the mysterious Sam. How he’d been in prison (a conversation that had warranted three drinks), his adventures with Nate finding lost pirate treasure, only to lose it (two more drinks), and his subsequent partnering with a man named Sullivan who you’d met before, (another drink).  
  
By now you were feeling far past tipsy, you slumped in your seat against the bar and laughed at the stupid puns that made their way into conversation every so often. You really hoped your face wasn’t flushed red with the drink by now. He was endearing, and excitable. The age gap had been an issue, but not anymore. Although you weren’t sure if that was the drink talking now, to be honest.  
  
“So what’s the worst chat-up line you ever heard?” he interjected halfway through a conversation about his adventures with Sullivan. “What?” you answered, not sure where this was going, but also not really caring. “Worst chat-up line, come onnnn… A girl like you must have heard a dozen!” he was drunk, and in the excitable stage. “Nice legs, what time do they open?” you replied, laughing into your drink. “Yeah, he didn’t get to find that one out!” you laughed again, as he did too.  
  
“So, what time do they open?” he waggled his eyebrows at you, and you hit him playfully on his shoulder. “Hey, I’m not a first date kind of girl!” you shot back, sipping on your drink whilst you laughed. Once you’d finished, you decided to ask him. “So what’s the worst one you ever used?” He sniggered as he finally answered, “It would make jolly if we could roger”. You both collapsed in a fit of drunken giggles. “So, did that actually work?” you queried, deciding not to believe him if he said yes. “Errr, have you seen me?” he said, motioning again upwards and downwards, his hands yet again lingering at his crotch. “What do you think?” he cheekily added, causing you to splutter your drink and cough. “Shit Doll, you OK?” you nodded as you gasped for air from your laugh. “Fine! That totally didn’t work either did it, how drunk was she!?” you added. He sniggered slightly, and put an arm around your shoulder- he was so warm and comforting. “Not as drunk as you Doll, I’d better take you to a taxi…” How was he this sensible after more than several drinks? Your head spun slightly by now, and you knew you’d be greeted by more than a small hangover in the morning.  
  
You nodded as you leaped off your barstool and went to grab your jacket which was crumpled underneath your seat. “Yeah, that seems like a good idea. Don’t _usually_ get so drunk on a first date… Wouldn’t want to make more of a twat out of myself!” As you stood up, the room spun even more. You were in the dizzy heights of drunk, a bit far out from having to pass out, but more than enough to end this night before you embarrassed yourself. Sam clung onto your arm as he lead you to a taxi.  
  
“So, I should probably get your number to make sure you get back OK?” he said to you, as he hailed a taxi. You nodded earnestly and produced your phone from your clutch bag as you read your number out to him. He leant down and kissed you on the cheek. “Well tonight was a good one, Doll. Next time? Maybe, not a bar?” you smiled at him as you waved him off and got into your taxi.  
  
Next time it'd have to be then. You couldn't wait. 


End file.
